The Wife Between Us(45)

I have one stop to make before I go to her apartment. I’ve booked an early appointment at the Serge Normant salon on the Upper East Side. I will be finished and at her place in plenty of time.

It wasn’t difficult to find her schedule; I know what her plans are for today. I slip out quietly, without leaving a note for Aunt Charlotte.

When I arrive at the salon, the colorist greets me. I see her eyes go to my roots, which I never did touch up. “What are you looking for today?”

I hand her a picture of a beautiful young woman and tell her to match the warm, buttery shade.

The colorist looks from the photo to me and back again. “Is this you?”

“Yes,” I say.





CHAPTER





SEVENTEEN




Soon the musicians would play Pachelbel’s Canon as she walked down the aisle with her father’s handkerchief—something blue—wrapped around a bouquet of white roses. “Have and hold . . . honor and cherish . . . till death do you part,” the minister would say.

Nellie was leaving for the airport in a few hours. She tucked her new red bikini into one of her two suitcases and checked her to-do list. Her wedding gown had been shipped ahead to the resort by FedEx, and the concierge had confirmed its arrival. Her toiletries were all that remained to pack.

Faint white rectangles showed on the walls where her pictures had hung. She was leaving behind her bed, dresser, and a lamp. Sam had a lead on a new roommate, a Pilates instructor who was coming by tomorrow. If the new roommate didn’t want Nellie’s furniture, she had promised she’d arrange to have the items hauled away. “I’m going to pay rent until someone else moves in, too,” she’d insisted.

She could tell Sam didn’t want to accept the offer, especially since Richard was paying for her trip to Florida and had just covered the cost of the locksmith.

Nellie knew Sam couldn’t afford the apartment on her own. “Come on,” Nellie had said as Sam sat on Nellie’s bed, watching her finish packing. “It’s only fair.”

“Thanks.” Sam had given Nellie a quick, hard squeeze. “I hate good-byes.”

“I’ll see you in a few days,” Nellie protested.

“That’s not what I mean.”

Nellie nodded. “I know.”

A moment later, Sam was gone.

As Nellie wrote out that month’s rent check, the phone rang. She’d been staring at her signature, realizing she might never again sign her old last name. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, she thought. It sounded so dignified.

Nellie checked caller ID before answering. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, lovey, just wanted to double-check your flight number. It’s American, right?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” Nellie opened her laptop and scrolled down through her emails to find the airline’s confirmation, then read the information aloud. “It gets in at seven-fifteen.”

“Will you have had dinner?”

“Only if you consider a package of peanuts a meal.”

“I can cook for you.”

“Let’s keep it simple—why don’t we just pick up something on the way home? . . . By the way, did you pick out your spa treatments yet? Richard booked us massages and facials, but you need to let them know if you want a deep-tissue or Swedish or whatever. . . . Did you see the brochure he emailed you?”

“He doesn’t need to do that for me. You know I have trouble sitting still for those kinds of things.”

It was true; Nellie’s mom’s preferred form of relaxation would be taking a walk on the beach at sunset, rather than lying facedown on a masseuse’s table. But Richard hadn’t known that. He’d wanted to do something special. How could Nellie tell him her mother had rejected his gesture?

“Try it. I bet you’ll like it more than you think.”

“Just sign me up for whatever you’re getting.”

Nellie knew she was far from the only daughter who chafed at what seemed to be veiled maternal barbs. “So much processed sugar,” her mother had murmured the last time Nellie ate a bag of Skittles in front of her, and she’d asked more than once how Nellie could stand the “claustrophobia” of Manhattan.

“Please at least act excited about it in front of Richard.”

“Lovey, you seem so concerned by what he thinks all the time.”

“I’m not concerned. I’m appreciative! He’s so good to me.”

“Did he ask if you wanted to spend the day before your wedding getting a facial?”

“What? Why does that even matter?” Only Nellie’s mother could get her so riled up about a stupid spa treatment. No, not stupid! It was Richard’s gift.

“Let me just say something. You’ve told me that facials make you break out. Why wouldn’t you tell that to Richard? And he bought a house you hadn’t even seen. Do you want to live in the suburbs?”

Nellie exhaled through her teeth but her mother continued, “I’m sorry, but he seems like he has such a strong personality.”

“You’ve only met him once!” Nellie protested.

“You’re still so young, though. I’m worried you might fade away. . . . I know you love him, but please stay true to yourself, too.”